


our december sun is setting

by impsy



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Depression, Episode s01e12 "Ghosts", M/M, POV Outsider
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-15
Updated: 2013-04-15
Packaged: 2017-12-08 13:32:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/761890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impsy/pseuds/impsy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eleven years after the Blackout, Miles finally accepts something he's known for a long time - he has to kill Monroe. [Spoilers for 1x12 "Ghosts"]</p>
            </blockquote>





	our december sun is setting

**Author's Note:**

> Part 1 of 2, in which Miles goes to Jim Hudson with his revelation that he has to kill Monroe.
> 
> Title from Death Cab For Cutie's "Brothers on a Hotel Bed."

Jim Hudson was sick of waiting, and he wasn't the only one.

They'd been sitting around for maybe an hour, but Ian had been pacing the room for at least half that time - fifteen steps, wall to wall, pushing his hand on the cracking plaster every time he turned around.  
For the first time, Jim wondered what Ian had done before the Blackout had turned them all into soldiers.

April wasn't faring much better, but at least she was sitting - admittedly with her fingers twined together in her lap and knee bouncing. "Do you think something happened?" Her voice was barely a whisper.

"It's Matheson. He can handle himself." Ian waved a hand dismissively, but he was quiet too, knowing how bad it would look if the guards found them here together. And, more importantly, what _Monroe_  would think. Or do. "What'd he say when you talked to him, Jim? What the hell does he want?"

"Fuck if I know." He kept his voice down too, glancing at the door. "Just to bring the two of you and to keep it real quiet."

"So it's pretty serious." April's expression didn't change, but the bouncing of her knee stilled. "Serious enough to get us killed."

He didn't reply, and she sighed but didn't push it. As the ranking officer in the group - besides the general, of course - they both knew Jim would get the worst of it if Monroe found out.

The door flew open, slamming against the wall with a clatter, and they were so used to the quiet that all of them jumped at the sound.

"Matheson," Ian breathed as the figure in the doorway took a halting step into the flickering candlelight. "What the hell happened? You all right?"

Miles barked a laugh, losing control of his legs and stumbling forward, almost falling to the floor before catching himself on a chair, which scooted forward with a screech from the force of his near-fall. "Never better."

Ian leapt to his feet, reaching out to take Miles' elbow and help him to a chair.

"Are you hurt, sir?" April asked, hurrying to the door. She peered into the hallway quickly before closing it behind him, and caught Jim's eyes and shook her head only slightly. He let himself relax slightly. All clear.

"I said I'm fine," Miles snapped. He swatted Ian away even as he helped him sit down. "Christ, I can handle it."

Ian recoiled, his mouth twisted. "How much have you had to drink?" he demanded, before catching himself and adding a quick, "sir."

"Not enough." Miles pulled a flask out of his pocket and took another swig to prove his point, then looked around at their horrified faces and sighed, screwing the lid back on and slipping it back into his pocket. "Sorry. Just... Been a rough night."

Jim could believe it. Miles' hands were shaking, dark circles under his eyes, and he looked like he hadn't had a solid meal in a few days. While he didn't know him well, the General Matheson that Jim had slowly gotten to know over the past few years would never let anyone see him as anything less than totally composed, in complete control.

Miles hiccuped and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment with a grimace.

"What'd you call us here for, sir?" April asked, leaning forward in her chair. "And why all the secrecy?"

"Because," he said, measuring his words carefully. "You three are people I- You're trustworthy. And I want- I'm going to need your help. If I'm going to kill Monroe."

Silence. They all exchanged a glance, communicating more with a look than they'd ever be able to say - especially in front of Matheson.

"Don't fucking- don't pretend like I'm wrong," he snapped, drawing their attention back to him. "You _know_ , don't you? That Bas... That he has to die. I- we have to stop him. We _have_  to." He sounded desperate, looking around to meet each of their eyes.

"It's- it's not that," April said, catching Jim's gaze for a moment. He nodded, almost imperceptibly, and she pursed her lips before continuing, a nervous habit she'd never been able to break. "You're right, sir. We all- We've known it for a while. President Monroe has... changed. There's no going back after what he's done. And someone needs to stop him. But you're..." She trailed off, looked to Ian for help.

"You're not the one to do it," he said in the same tone he used when the soldiers under his command were about to do something stupid. "With all the- the history you two have-"

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Miles was on his feet and in Ian's face in a second, despite his drunkenness, and his eyes were shining with the cold brilliance that sent new recruits rushing to obey him and rebels scurrying for the hills. The only one it didn't work on was... well.

"It means you've been friends for years," Jim said, taking a chance and grabbing Miles' arm to pull him back. "The President- Monroe needs to go. We agree with you, sir. But you can't be expected to kill your best friend."

 _Friends_. Like anyone really believed that anymore. They did their best to hide it, of course, but when they could all see how differently they acted around each other...

And, of course, there was that one memorable occasion when Miles and Monroe had both showed up to a meeting 15 minutes late. Miles' uniform was untucked and his hair a mess where someone had clearly run his hands through it, and Monroe had a love bite just barely visible under his collar.

Miles listened to Ian's words without comment and sunk back into his chair, collapsing in on himself like a dying star. He looked small, weak, hopeless.

"He's my responsibility," he mumbled, reaching for the flask again and taking another swig before they could stop him. Not that they dared. Even like this, he was still General Matheson. "I did this to him. Bas is-" His voice cracked and he squeezed his eyes closed, sinking further down in his chair. "It doesn't matter how I f-"

Jesus. Matheson would never fucking forgive himself if he let him keep talking. "Sir," he interrupted, "we can discuss this more later. Tomorrow, maybe."

Miles nodded mutely, flask held tightly in his hand, staring sightlessly at the wall.

"I'll take him back," Jim offered, exchanging meaningful glances with both of them, and they nodded. Years of working together meant they trusted him to take care of things and fill them in when he could. "Let's go, Matheson."

He nodded dumbly, and it said something for his state of mind that he didn't object to being carted around like a kid when April and Jim hauled him to his feet, throwing Miles' arm over his own shoulder and supporting him with an arm around his middle.

"You're clear," Ian said, coming back in from the hallway. "Whole area's empty. Want any help?"  
Jim shook his head. "Don't want anyone seeing all of us together. I'll get him back and come up with something if I need to."

April squeezed his arm with a comforting smile as the two of them ducked away, heading opposite directions. Jim gave them to the count of thirty, then braced himself and half-dragged Matheson out into the hallway.

The general was blessedly quiet as they stumbled through the dimly-lit hallways, but that didn't make Jim feel any better. Matheson knew that Monroe had to be stopped. He'd hoped for years to have an ally like him, but to hear him say those words was more than he'd ever really anticipated. But the fact that he had to be in this state to say them...

"I have to kill him," Miles mumbled as the pair of them stumbled through the door to his room. "I have to do it."

Jim sighed. He sounded so broken. But... "Yeah," he said quietly, depositing him at the edge of his bed. "You do."

Miles just rested his elbows on his knees, looking at the floor. "It went so fucking _wrong_ ," Miles mumbled. "I just wanted- I wanted to fix things. I thought..." He sighed. "It's my fault. And now Bas-"

"He's not your friend, Miles," Jim reminded him. "Not anymore."

Miles shook his head. "No. But I still-" His voice broke and he paused a moment to collect himself. "I don't know if I can do this."

"You have to," Jim reminded him gently, putting a hand on his shoulder. "You're the only one who can."

He nodded mutely, and Jim took that as his cue to leave.

He glanced over his shoulder one last time, and the last thing he saw was Miles, face buried in his hands, shoulders shaking with his sobs, unable to contain his grief.

Jim shook his head, heart sinking. Miles may blame himself for what Monroe had become, but he didn't deserve the amount of punishment he was putting himself through.

At least, Jim thought, letting the door shut behind him, they would all be able to move past this soon.

It would all be worth it once Miles pulled the trigger.


End file.
